


37 Celsius

by urbanMystic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, No Pulse!Mercy, Polyamory, Post-Recall, Temperature Play, Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix Redemption, pharmercymaker, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-13 07:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11180301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urbanMystic/pseuds/urbanMystic
Summary: Fareeha Amari and Amelie Lacroix are as different as two people could be, except that they've both fallen for Angela Ziegler. As the two of them resolve their differences and make peace, a new sort of tension springs up.





	1. Flash Point

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware that the "Mercy has no pulse" headcanon has been disproved. Also, I ripped the nanobot mind control Widowmaker headcanon from "Do No Harm". Go read that, it's effing brilliant. Seriously. Go. This crappy porn will be here when you get back.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/9406151/chapters/21293687

"Your hands are always cold."

It was a chilly night in Gibraltar. The sun had set, leaving the base exposed to the ocean wind. Fareeha and Angela stood on a roof, originally planning to stargaze, now looking at each other. 

"Yes," Angela replied, "they say it's common in doctors."

"I like it."

"It seems you like a few other things about me as well."

"I do."

"May I ask in what way?"

"I could just show you."

They were close. They were so close. Lips were a centimeter away: A centimeter away from something Angela had been dreaming about ever since this hawk of a woman had walked back into her life. A centimeter from a conversation the doctor never wanted to have, from a secret she had wanted to take to the grave.

That is, if death would even grant her clemency.

The blonde closed the gap, mouth to mouth, site of a hunger that never consumes its object fully and yet finds itself sated nonetheless. In that moment she could not forget the distance between herself and Fareeha Amari, the 22 degrees celsius that threatened to end everything before it could begin.

"Your lips are freezing. Are you alright?"

"Please don't tell anyone."

\---

"If you hurt her-"

"I won't."

The tension could have frozen hell itself. Brown eyes met an artificial gold sheen. Widowmaker had been at Gibraltar for a scant 6 months, and in that time she had been rehabilitated from a nanobot-induced memory loss by one Dr. Ziegler. They had grown close in that time, rekindling an old and unspoken flame.

"How can she trust you?" Fareeha demanded an answer.

Widowmaker stood firm. "That is between me and her. The question you want to ask is how can you trust me."

"Well?"

"Is her word not enough? Did you not listen to the hour long monologue our little angel goes on whenever someone asks about my progress? Do you not trust someone who has cheated death to squeeze one more favor from her God?"

The word 'our' burned Fareeha, but she couldn't argue without bringing up *That*. She may not have trusted Widowmaker, but there had to be rules of engagement, some things left alone. The soldier grit her teeth and walked away.

\---

It was a languid midnight hour, two cold bodies entwined on a thin bed, two ghosts talking in the aftermath of pretending to be alive again.

"I'm sorry she keeps confronting you," the medic sighed.

"You do not have to apologize for her. Besides," Amelie shifted to better rest on Angela's chest, "It's admirable, how much she wants to protect you."

"I just wish she could see you the way I do."

\---

"What are you so surprised by?" the sniper spat.

"You had every chance to lie to her," Fareeha noted, brow knit in confusion, "to walk away from that fight and have her wrapped around your finger, and you didn't."

"Of course not!" Amelie screamed, tears streaming, "How many times do I have to tell you I love her the same way you do! You're not listening, even to the woman you claim to care for!"

It had been a hell of a fight. Half the base had heard the two of them having a row, and Angela had stormed off to the lab to clear her head. Fareeha, too overprotective to let anything be, had been waiting outside the door to block Wido- Amelie from going after the stone-faced doctor.

"You know what is truly unfair?" Amelie stared at the floor, "I'm jealous of how you watch over her. How she gets to have your eyes watching her back." She was too tired to keep up her guard, and the feeling of her heart pumping at an almost human rate was scalding.

The full weight of how misguided she had been hit Fareeha. Guilt inflamed her cheeks.

\---

It was a bad day. Angela was out on a mission, and Amelie hadn't gotten out of bed for three days. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten or showered. The woman wanted to be human, or at least go through the motions. All she had were uncounted hours of crying, sleeping, and staring at walls while trying not to remember.

Trauma is a bitch.

The door opened, and a soft voice called into the darkness. "Amelie?"

"Not you."

"Too bad, spider, I'm who you have." The lights came on. 

"Go away. I'll live."

"Yes, but if Angela comes back to find you like this, she'll pull her hair out with worry." Fareeha set a tray down on the end of the bed and knelt on the floor where Amelie could see her.

"You do everything for the worst reasons."

"Tell someone who cares." Fareeha reached under Amelie to sit her up, rearranging pillows behind the woman with a free hand. She pulled up a glass of ice water from the tray, offering it to her charge. "Half of that, then we'll try food."

The liquid felt cool on the back of her throat, a rare blessing.

\---

"Don't open that."

Fareeha looked like she was 11 again, shoulders shrunken as she sat on the bench in the locker room, a miserable child longing for a mother that was always away. In her hands she held a letter addressed to her in Arabic.

Amelie stood in front of the soldier and held out her hand. "Give that to me."

"Why?"

"Every time you read a letter from that woman you become a pitiful wretch for three days. The very least you can do, if we are stuck together by circumstance, is spare me the eyesore of you slouching. I will read and summarize."

"Can you even read this?"

"Well enough."

The letter was handed over. Amelie read it. The silence gave Fareeha shivers.

"She's alive."

"Anything else?"

"She thinks she loves you," Amelie's voice went cold like her skin, "I am not so sure."

\---

"I think Amelie likes me."

"Yes, I've been telling you this for over a year now."

"I think I'm starting to like her."

"That's such a relief to hear."

"No, I mean." Fareeha sat up, "I think I'm falling for her."

Angela joined her lover in being upright, letting the sheet fall to expose her torso. "Tell me. Please?"

Two hands entwined, the temperature almost too much, an extreme that had become comforting.

\---

Two days later, Angela walked by the kitchen to hear familiar laughter. When she popped in, she saw Amelie and Fareeha laughing. The medic rubbed her eyes. Was it real? The French woman was peeling garlic, and the Egyptian was kneading dough. Pots were simmering on one of the stoves.

"And then he says 'what is ginger'?" Amelie rolled her eyes.

The soldier almost bent over laughing, "Seriously?!? In a Michelin star restaurant?"

"Oh, Angela, come in. Don't stand at the door like a stranger." The dancer waved the knife like it was an extension of her hand, "Fareeha and I got sick of the usual fare and decided to make dinner."

"Do you want some?" the second cook asked, "We were going to have leftovers, but eating with you is better."

"I am going to sleep. If this is a dream, do not correct me in the morning."

Fareeha smirked at the sniper, "We finally found a way to make Angela go to bed."

"And we kept our clothes on this time!"

Their laughter warmed Angela in a way that didn't burn. She went to bed and slept soundly for the first night in many months.

\---

It happened almost by accident. Amelie had woken from a nightmare and, in her usual fashion, crawled into Angela's bed. Usually, it was empty, as the doctor was more likely to sleep on a couch in her lab. Tonight she was there, cool under a thin sheet, but it was a warmth that greeted Amelie's skin, a now familiar burning that smelled faintly of camphor and skin.

"Fareeha?" she mumbled, moving to leave.

"Hush and come here."

Soon the three were sleeping with Fareeha as the middle spoon. Her body was kept cool by the two shades beside her. Dawn found them with the perfect stillness only first light can bring, the ice-thin sheet of blue that heralds the eruption of color that would soon be visible through the window.

Angela woke first, unguarded before the hunger of her own skin. Hands sought Fareeha's hips. With her fingertips especially, Fareeha felt like hot water on snow-soaked limbs, a pain only the living can feel. If she could feel this, maybe she was still alive. The doctor's lips found more of the same when she kissed her lover's shoulder, when she pressed ass to hip, when she let breast meet back.

"You know Amelie is here, right?"

"Hmm. Is she even awake?"

The third party grumbled, "I am now."

Fareeha removed her hands from the purple silk she had been holding for hours, "Sorry, Amelie."

"Put those back," the little spoon demanded. Grogginess had removed the thin veneer of restraint Amelie usually kept.

There was a pause. No one could see it, but Angela was smirking.

Amelie clarified herself, "Fareeha, please," her voice wasn't pitiful nor unsure, just vulnerable, "I'll leave if you-"

"No. Stay." Hands wound down Amelie's thighs, and a mouth nipped her ear. "I just-" Fuck. Words are hard before dawn. "Needed you to ask."

There was no speaking for a while, only a lahar between two glaciers. Nails ran down sides, fingers caressed nipples, palms cupped breasts. Mouths painted kisses on shoulders, teeth nipped ears, and Amelie's hands itched to return the touch.

All this happened to a different sort of dawn chorus, the imperfectly human grunts and whines of throats that can't be roused to the soprano moans of afternoon trysts. Trapped between two graveyard escapees, Fareeha's body danced to meet touch wherever it could be found, gasping for something that would finally cool the rising temperature of her sex.

"Please," she finally asked for more. Her heart churned to find speech but none was to be had.

Angela moved, laying Fareeha on her back. The doctor's hand split dense protective curls to find a wealth of mucus. No matter how many times she met the living flesh with her own resurrected body, it was like finding ambrosia. Her mouth busied itself on the soldier's neck, laying kisses but not sucking.

A second hand came into play. Amelie tested Fareeha's nipple like an ice cube meeting wet tongue, pleased with how responsive the recipient was.

"Fareeha," she nuzzled her victim's face, "Do you like pain?"

"Hmm. No. Don't." Angela paused to defend Fareeha, "Just. Don't."

"Talk later," was the only reply from said potential victim, "Fuck me now."

Everything got blurry for Fareeha after that. Someone rubbed her clit. Her nipples were teased by mouth and hand. Another mouth was at her neck. It all felt like hail, felt cold and heavy on the volcanic soil she was fast becoming. Her orgasm came like a geyser, unstoppable, cutting through the deep snow of Angela and Amelie laying by her. The first proper moan of the morning vibrated off the arch of her back until she lay back panting.

The haze cleared and she saw Amelie straddle Angela, holding the doctor's wrists to the bed.

"Do you want to help?" The spider asked the recovering woman.

Fareeha groaned, "I want to watch. I can't move."

Amelie looked down at the body she had pinned. "Ask me."

"Eat me," Angela pushed against the hands that held her with a little smile, "Please, I don't want to wait." 

With unexpected grace, Amelie moved down the bed to bury her face in the pale yellow hair over Angela's labia. There was a comfort between them that looked new to Fareeha, whose touch was always too warm for Angela's skin. It wasn't the comfort of simplicity however, as Amelie seemed to delight in marking the healer. Fareeha wasn't surprised. She had seen the bruises and scratches many times. What surprised her was Angela's reaction. Amelie wrapped her arms around the other woman's thighs to keep her still, and nails dug into the skin they found there. Angela's face wasn't pained but relieved, as though Amelie was ridding her of a weight.

Fareeha shifted close enough to whisper to Angela, "You're beautiful like this."

Angela had felt Fareeha's eyes on her, wondered what the soldier was thinking, couldn't stop worrying about what her lovingly protective partner was seeing. So having this whispered in her ear was a relief. Angela let her breath come shallow, reached to touch something, anything, finding Fareeha's hand. Amelie was too occupied to say anything, losing herself in the familiar but heavenly scent.

Climax came slowly, passing through Angela like an unbroken wave. She came up from her have to find Fareeha kissing the corner of her mouth with incredible delicacy while Amelie was up and reaching for a towel to wipe her face with.

The dancer turned back toward the bad to find two smiling faces. "My turn?"

"How do you want it?" Angela asked, still a bit of a puddle.

"I suppose our usual games won't do with Fareeha here."

"If you're lucky and ask politely, Fareeha might go down on you," Angela suggested.

"It's true. I would do this."

Amelie raised an eyebrow, "Are you two sure?" She didn't know how to mention her tastes, how to explain the hungers she had been feeding since her teenage years, how to tell the story of desire that had woven with every scar to hold her up like a lattice. All she could communicate was hesitation.

"I know what you like," Angela reassured the dancer, "And you should believe me when I say this will go well for you."

Amelie met Fareeha's eyes. It had been such a long road to here. Could she bear to open herself to rejection now? Why hadn't she spoken of this earlier?

"Hey," the soldier sat up, voice soft with concern, "If you're worried that you want something that will frighten me, don't."

"That is not my fear," Amelie admitted, "My fear is that you will lose interest, or have no interest at all. I am not going to be a side parcel to Angela for you." She was crossing her arms now, feeling unusually conscious of being nude.

"We could also all go back to sleep and talk about this later,” the healer suggested.

"I think I will head back to my room, actually."

Before anyone could say anything, Amelie had dressed and gone. The room was empty without her, the bed cold in a way that a heartbeat wouldn’t help. Fareeha and Angela lay on the bed looking at the ceiling together, fingers intertwined for a long minute.

"I have to go talk to her," Fareeha said finally, "She thinks I just want her because of you."

"Yes. You do that. I am going to sleep."

Fareeha leaned down to kiss Angela before grabbing her own pajamas and heading to Amelie's room.


	2. Reheating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the Fareeha and Amelie to figure out what they mean to each other, or at least get started....

Dawn was streaming in through the dormitory windows, and Fareeha heard people stirring in various rooms as she made her way to the kitchen. If she was going to go talk to Amelie, there needed to be tea. She padded down to the kitchen in pajamas and shower sandals, her mind quiet enough to appreciate the timbre of the synthetic material on the floors. Most military personnel were accustomed to waking up at 5, and she gave a quick nod to various overwatch agents as they made coffee and went for morning exercise. 

She had given up on getting a steady supply of real tea ages ago and had settled for adding mint and lemon to some terrible dust in a teabag. The mugs all looked the same, cafeteria taupe ceramic cylinders. It was familiar.

On her way back to Amelie's room, the soldier rolled her own feelings over in her stomach. They had formed a slow sort of trust over the year and a half since the ex-terrorist had showed up on base. What had changed Fareeha's mind was watching Amelie show a messy sort of care: the way she flushed when she argued, the way she insisted on not leaving Angela to her more self-destructive moods, and the way she cooked without heed to any recipe. 

Fareeha knew she had become fond of the returning agent, knew that when they were in the kitchen she savoured the sniper’s movements like onion in stock: grace that underwrote the whole mood in the room in a way only a studied nose could catch. Even then the two had kept each other at a distance. It had been an aesthetic enjoyment for Fareeha, never something she intended to act on.

Until this morning. This morning had taken the soldier by surprise. Amelie had been so vulnerable, so seamless. Fareeha felt she at least owed the woman an explanation. Even newly reformed terrorists deserved to have a forward discussion about these things. 

Amelie's words hung in Fareeha's memory. It was obvious she felt insecure about the soldier’s potential reaction to discussions of sexual pleasure. The hawk-eyed woman wished she had answers, but she had never explored it. Living on military bases her whole adult life made it a bit conspicuous to mark or tie up lovers for hours at a time. Being able to sleep in Angela's room without questions was itself a luxury, a mark of the unique structure of Overwatch.

Still, it seemed there was more behind Amelie's hesitation than just a concern about some kinky sex. Fareeha wanted to clear the air as much as she wanted to explain her own impulsiveness. It was in this spirit that she knocked on Amelie's door, tea in hand, the desires of the morning still coiled somewhere secret. 

A few seconds later, Amelie appeared at the door, still in pajamas. “Yes?”

“I hope I didn't wake you. Are you okay?" Fareeha rubbed the back of her very disheveled head.

“You know that’s a stupid question.”

The tea-holding woman rolled her eyes. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

Amelie paused, thinking, then opened the door and walked to her bed. “Come in.”

In a dark room, the purple body laid back down, her legs hanging off the edge of her bed. Fareeha walked through the familiar space, opening one set of blackout curtains to let in soft early morning light before she sat next to Amelie and took a sip of her drink.

The soldier started, “I should have talked to you about us before making a pass at you."

"That's what you feel bad about?"

"Should I be explaining myself for something else?"

Amelie lifted herself onto an elbow, looking at her visitor with annoyance, "Fareeha, compared to some of my past lovers you are a saint. You may as well have asked my father for permission with how careful you were."

"What's got you so upset then? It seems like this is about more than just this morning." She turned to face Amelie, one leg folding onto the mattress.

The dancer sat herself up. "How do you feel about me?" Her eyes were searching. 

Fareeha didn’t break eye contact. "I don't know."

"Well, there's your answer,” Amelie spat, “I like you, Fareeha, as more than a friend. I've liked you ever since I saw the way you protect the rest of your strange little family. But this morning I got some very mixed signals from you. So I need you to figure it out."

The soldier was unfazed. She lifted her eyebrows and smugly replied, "So I really should have talked to you before making a pass at you, then."

Amelie narrowed her eyes "Just because you are right does not mean I am sorry." She was sitting with her legs folded underneath her, facing her visitor.

"That's fine,” Fareeha chuckled, “I am sorry, for the record."

"I don't want you to be sorry. I just want an answer."

"I feel like there’s something between us, but," Fareeha paused and stared into her mug.

"But what?"

"I always sort of felt you were Angela's."

It was Amelie’s turn to roll her eyes. "Fareeha."

"Hey, you asked for an answer. You didn't say it had to make sense." Fareeha sat cross-legged now, facing Amelie directly.

"You never get jealous about my dating Angela, but you won't explore what's between us because of her?"

"First, yes I do get jealous. I just talk it over with Angela in private. Second, Angela seems to understand you in a way I might never.”

Amelie had her legs folded under her and was leaning onto her hand. She thought for a moment, tasting her front teeth before replying, “It’s true. Angela knows my past, and she can see the change in a way you cannot. But every relationship is different. You know this. Do you feel like we will never understand each other?”

“I feel like you understand me pretty well,” Fareeha mused, “but I don’t know how much of you I have even seen.”

Fingertips ran over lips, a featherlight touch. “Do you want to know anything in particular?” Amelie had become playful.

“Why are you trying to seduce me all of a sudden?” 

“I like knowing you want me, even if it’s only a little.”

“Are you always this-” Fareeha paused. Again, her body had taken her by surprise. A spark passed through her core.

Amelie explained, a little wistful, “It only takes a mild hand, yes.”

“Are you still worried?”

“Yes.” Amelie’s hand paused in midair. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes.” The soldier guided the other woman’s hand to her face. Fingertips led the way for palm to cup cheek, and then traced down the side of a strong neck, following the planes of Fareeha’s collarbone.

The soldier whispered, “We still have to figure this out.”

“We do.”

“We could figure it out later. Slowly.”

“We could.”

“I can’t help but feel like you’re hiding something.”

“It’s the opposite. I want to show you.”

“Okay.” Fareeha leaned forward and took Amelie’s face in her hands, kissing the other woman gently. “Show me.”

Amelie started slowly, kissing Fareeha with a bit less reserve every time. Her lips opened and her tongue moved out to taste what it could find. She found a mouth scented with mint and steaming like the tea that had been there earlier. It was a momentary bliss to find Fareeha’s mouth eager and pliable. Amelie showed Fareeha her rhythm: slow until it wasn’t, never shy, perfectly controlled, and extremely thorough.

The soldier could see now that it had all been a preamble. The story was falling into place. Amelie scenting the air for her, for this perfect moment to entwine fingers into thick hair, to let the whole body orchestrate itself into every movement, to so fluidly press Fareeha back onto the bed that it didn’t break their kiss.

This wasn’t the scrabbling touch of someone looking for a simple high, nor was it the usual fumblings of someone who viewed sex as a side activity. There was something in Amelie’s being that revolved around movement, around the details of space between.

Amelie straddled Fareeha, studying this new lover carefully. Fareeha was direct in everything, and this was no different. There was no curve or bend to her spine as she lay prone beneath the dancer. How far could Amelie push? Her mouth moved to kiss the neck her fingers had trailed only a minute before, hands moving to pin wrists to the bed.

“Hmm, it’s your turn.” Fareeha objected.

“Oh? Do you only want to fuck me out of a sense of fairness?”

“No, I just,” she paused, gasping as Amelie brought teeth into the equation, “I wanted you earlier, and-” That was enough. She flipped Amelie on the bed.

The sniper looked up with a moment of surprise. “I approve.”

Fareeha was maddeningly soft: Kisses were laid wherever she could reach. There was no teeth, no fervent sucking, only a mouth alighting where it would. 

“Harder,” Amelie whined, “I’m not porcelain, Fareeha.” It was easy to sit up, too easy. 

Friendly hands reached down to lift up the oversized shirt that was passing for pajamas on her target. “Are you still hungry from before?" Fareeha asked. There was a smirk.

In a completely unexpected motion, Amelie ran a gentle hand down Fareeha's arm, her eyes soft in a way the soldier hadn't really seen before. "Who wouldn't be hungry for you? Did I not make myself clear?"

"No, you've been pretty upset and defensive."

"You're right." She lay back, encouraging the Egyptian to follow her. "Now I’m sorry.”

“I know how you can make it up to me.” Fareeha ran her fingers over the now bare chest.

Amelie shivered, “How?” 

“Stay still and let me take my time with you.”

“Hmm. Just this once.”

It was frustrating. Fareeha was so, so very gentle. If anything, it seemed she was going slower than before. Amelie was nude save for a fresh pair of panties, and Fareeha took full advantage, caressing sides, mouthing nipples, making constellations of kisses, coming time and time again close to the line of Amelie’s underwear without giving her the pressure she craved.

What Amelie hadn’t counted on was the heat. In the pre-dawn light, it had seemed like a little bit of spice. Now, in the full perception of midmorning, Fareeha’s body was a hot iron, a welcome one. Amelie was left squirming between a desire for more force and the gratification of this new sensation. By the time Fareeha peeled off the last bit of offending fabric, Amelie was about ready to strangle someone.

“May I?”

“Stop asking and just fuck me, Fareeha.”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

“Please,” came the breathless plea, “ _please._ ”

At the moment Fareeha graced Amelie’s clit with the blessing of a flat tongue, she understood why Angela had suggested this. It seared. It cut through her with something that wasn’t quite pain, like skin coming back alive after being open to hours of northern ocean wind. 

Fareeha was deeply enjoying herself, having finally gotten the inscrutable sniper melting under her touch. Amelie had a very mild taste for someone so raucous, and the aroma gave Fareeha jolts. Under her tongue, the French woman was slowly coming undone, a knot of muscles unfurling like a sail under a warm breeze.

It wasn’t loud, but when Amelie’s climax came, her hands reached for whatever they could find of the merciful woman who had carried her to the crucial point. Lilac hands found brown ones, fingers intertwining as the dancer’s back arched. Once the body of her new lover was slack again, Fareeha stood up and found a stray towel to wipe her face with before returning to cuddle. The two were soon laying side by side, diagonal on the mattress, foreheads touching. 

Amelie was too tired to object to the tenderness that exuded from Fareeha. She mumbled, “How did you stay so soft after so many battles when I couldn’t keep from hardening before I even saw a fight?”

“Fighting makes me tired,” Fareeha explained, “I have to come back to this or I would lose myself.”

“Will you hurt me next time?”

“If you show me how.”


End file.
